Wretched
by korinara
Summary: Pyramid Head & Maria. Understanding his rather disabling predicament was one thing, but thinking that he was now under her jurisdiction was another entirely. She duly deserved to be eaten alive for it.
1. The First Day

**Wretched**

**Disclaimer:**I do not own Silent Hill.

**I. The First Day**

**A/N:** You really have to approach this sort of fic with a sense of humor, so don't expect much, if any of it, to be particularly serious. I like Pyramid Head and I like crack pairings. You had to know this was inevitable.

No real setting. That means that you're in the dark. No timeframe, no exact place, no nothing. Just know that there's Pyramid Head and there's Maria. And that's about the size of it.

Also, the pyramid is a helmet. I swear it is.

--------------------

It wasn't as if he wanted to be there. He wasn't lying on the cold metal floor for his health, and that was for _god_damned sure.

But what he did and didn't want wasn't the fact of the matter; the fact of the matter was that he had pinched some nerve in his back when he fell over a rail, and now he couldn't move his arms or legs by even a fraction of an inch. Whether or not such a disability was permanent or temporary, he honestly couldn't be too certain. All he knew was that he was probably going to die, hopefully soon.

Of course, nothing comes without a price, as he soon realized. It seemed as though whatever deities controlled the earth—not that he was religious _at all—_just did not want to let him go that easily. He had actually looked forward to rotting away in his lair as opposed to being unceremoniously killed by James Sunderland; he wouldn't have minded if he had died in the exact place he had spent most of his days. Maybe it was when he heard quick footsteps, or maybe it was when the girl ran inside the room, took one wild look at him, and then backtracked out, but either way, Pyramid Head knew that he wasn't going to be having a particularly _fun _little journey in the time it took him to perish completely.

About five days later, when his stomach began to groan and whine incorrigibly, the girl returned, popping her dainty little head in the door reproachfully. She wielded a flashlight this time—not a smart move when most of the fiends in Silent Hill, himself included, were attracted to the light. She shone it over the expanse of the room, eyeing the very railing that he had fallen onto before finally settling the beam on Pyramid Head.

She made a small choking sound that wasn't quite a scream, but wasn't quite a cough of surprise and closed the door quickly.

Pyramid Head didn't make a sound. He found this unnecessary; after all, once she realized the helpless position he had stumbled into, she would undoubtedly kill him, possibly with his own weapon. It would be terribly shameful, but at least he'd be able to rid himself of the boredom of doing _nothing _for the months he could survive without food or water.

As expected, when a bulky, tall man carrying a ridiculously large sword did _not _go sailing through the door and down the corridor after her, the girl spied into the room again. She stared at him for a few moments, waiting for him to move, before she nervously kicked a little pebble toward him. It didn't actually touch him, but was enough to get his attention, she probably figured.

He still didn't make any sound or move at all, though he might be able to manage a few words if he really wanted to, so she opened the door a tad more and picked up another pebble in her hand. She tossed it at him, and it ricocheted with a feeble "tink" off of his helmet. He almost grunted.

"Who the…?" she called out softly, her voice cracking under the shudders tracing the length of her spine.

He wondered if she was _stupid. _What person in their right mind wouldn't take this opportunity to escape or at least kill him?

He didn't answer, though, so she inched toward him, pointing the flashlight at the steady rise and fall of his blood-stained and scarred chest. He watched her approach from the corner of his eye, straining to see through the mesh of his helmet. She wore tall boots, but that was really all he could see in such close proximity.

She poked his side with one of said boots. His jaw twitched.

"You're not dead,"she observed, pacing in a circle around his spread-eagle, unguarded body. "And you're in the same position as when I last saw you."

When she backed up a little, the flesh of her thighs was exposed, and he felt a familiar and unconscious clench in his gut. He'd been away from the mannequins and all those feminine fiends for days, and he'd managed to keep the body-wracking lust away so perfectly up until now. But the little voice was back, at first just a murmur in the back of his mind and then building up until it was virtually screaming at him.

_In, out, in, out—harder, faster, deeper. _

It was frustrating, really, especially when he couldn't exactly do anything _about _it. He wasn't in any position to get up and slam into the girl so hard that her pelvis snapped in two, after all, so he'd just have to fend back the urges with furious obscenities and a sharp sense of self-preservation. Neither of which, he might add, he was very good at practicing.

"Oh my God," she breathed suddenly, glancing around the room in terror. "You're helpless. I could kill you now."

Yes.

Her hand twitched at her side. "I could just stab you in the chest, and you'd…"

Yes.

She faltered for a moment, clutching the flashlight tightly in her hand. She seemed to consider something, for she tilted her head back to stare at him from a higher angle. "But also…I could help you, and maybe you'd repay me in the end?"

_No!_

She stepped carefully toward him, appearing at his side with her flashlight still shining on him. Her blonde hair fell over her eyes slightly, and he managed to groan in what _sounded _like pain, but was actually frustration. He'd tried, and failed, to scare her off. This only seemed to fuel the supposed cunning in her eyes.

_Filthy bitch, _the voice roared, outraged in every sense of the word. _Fuck her! Kill her! Rip her intestines out through her eyes!_

And for once, he mused, he vehemently agreed with the voice. Filthy, disgusting, _vile _bitch for ever thinking that he'd show her mercy! Filthy, disgusting, _vile _bitch for ever thinking that he wanted or _needed _her help!

She peered down at him, through what she assumed was the area that he saw through. It wasn't really, though, so her face was blocked from his view. "I'll help you live," she began, trying to keep her voice steady, "and in return, you have to stop trying to kill me!" Her throat quivered, restraining her from speaking for a moment. "You have to just…not hurt me and tell all your other underlings to leave me alone, alright? Do we have a deal?"

He grunted angrily in what was _clearly _the "No," sentiment, but she took it as a "Yes," and gaily moved back from his helmet, smiling as she sat on her haunches.

"Thank you," she said, beginning to cry even against her wishes. "I'm gla—glad that we could come to an agreement."

As if he was actually doing her a favor! She'd let him stay alive, and then he'd get up and kill her like he'd never killed anybody before. First he'd tear off her hands and feet so that she couldn't crawl away, and then he'd fuck her until she writhed and convulsed beneath him. Then he'd tear out her eyes, and he'd fuck her again. Then her legs, and more fucking. Her arms, fuck. Head, fuck. One by one, piece by piece, he'd tear her apart until there was nothing left. And then he'd fuck her some more.

And thus, unfortunately, Pyramid Head spent his first day with Maria listening to her try to hide her weeping hiccups.


	2. The Second Day

**Wretched**

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Silent Hill

**II. The Second Day**

**A/N: **For every one review, I'll update. Short or long, doesn't matter. Just remember that I have about seven or so more chapters that are complete and waiting to be uploaded. I just hate updating in bulk. (I'm very cheap, I know.)

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The second day wasn't quite as bad as the first. She was smart enough to figure out that he needed food, so she'd pulled up a rickety wooden chair and interrogated him into the ground.

"I need to get you food, Pyramid Head. You'll die otherwise."

He watched, rather than listened, to her as she talked. Her mouth formed the words seamlessly, her tongue occasionally pressing against her teeth or slipping out to lick the dryness away from her lips. Her voice droned on and on, and he probably would have been lulled into some sort of half-hypnotic state had she not abruptly stood up and strode out the door. He couldn't remember what she had said before making her leave, mainly because he hadn't been listening.

She returned about an hour later, though, carrying a large burlap sack of what he could only imagine was food. He probably should have told her that his diet consisted of the monsters that roamed his territory. But then again, he didn't really owe her anything. If she wanted to die early, that was fine by him. He'd gladly help her along.

She collapsed directly after closing the door, startling him for a moment. The sack withered open, and various cans of food and bottles of water—dirtied and ridiculously dusty—rolled to rest against his side.

Her face displayed the telltale signs of struggle and fatigue, and she leaned against the wall for a long time after that, breathing heavily and keeping her eyes closed. He thought she'd fallen asleep before she slumped forward, resting her hands on her knees.

When she lifted her head, her hair fell over her eyes again. She smiled sort of shy-like, yet the tugging at the corner of her lips belied the exhaustion that racked her body violently. "I…I was almost attacked on the way here. I had to…to run." She glanced around at the cans and bottles speckling the ground, and then at Pyramid Head, himself. "I suppose…you couldn't tell me what you'd like to eat first?"

He wanted to kill her very badly then, but obvious bodily restrictions held him from doing so. So he watched as she grabbed the nearest can, inspected the label, and then pulled a Swiss army knife out of her boot.

"Sliced peaches," she said as she worked to open the can, quite sloppily at that. "Let's hope you like sliced peaches."

With a start, he realized that she would need to actually _touch _him to be able to feed him. He'd never been touched in any innocent sort of gesture; everybody and everything that touched him wanted to either kill him or defend themselves, and most of the time even both.

She crawled over to him—reproachfully, for she was still very apparently frightened of him—and pulled a slick, dripping peach slice from the can. "Uh…I assume…that you _do _have a mouth under that helmet?"

Of course he had a mouth, how else would he eat? She obviously thought that he was some sort of immortal. He ate, he drank, and sometimes he even had to sleep. There was just no other way around it, and she was, once again, a filthy, disgusting, vile bitch for thinking any different.

Her hand touched his helmet in such a shaky, harmless way, but it was a knee-jerk reaction for him nonetheless, and a feral growl tore from his throat. She immediately withdrew and stared at him in unimaginable fear, but then a look of stern determination crossed her features. _"Pyramid_ Head, you son-of-a-bitch" she said, as if she was reprimanding a child. "To keep my end of the bargain, I have to help you eat. And in order for me to do that, I have to touch your helmet." She wagged a finger at him mockingly. "So quit growling and scaring me half to death!"

If only growls _could _scare someone half to death. The next thing he knew, she was lifting his helmet up by the rim to gaze at his jaw. Muscles all over his body clenched and twitched, and the voice was as prevalent as ever.

_Kill her. Kill her. Kill, kill, kill!_

He was much inclined to listen to the voice, but he still wasn't in any state to get up and do as he wished.

One of her fingers felt around his chin with the lightest of touches, still trembling as if it would suddenly be sucked into his own body and fused with him, before it finally came to rest upon his lower lip. Quicker than he could bite the tip of her dainty little appendage clean off, she slipped the peach slice in his mouth.

And it was the most rancid thing he'd ever tasted in his life.

His throat, upon receiving the message that his tongue was just _not _going to accept such a sugary-sweet flavor, instantly started the retching process, but it was too late. The peach slice was too slippery, and it slid down to his stomach in record time. Once there, he could feel the walls groan and shake before, all at once, he began to gag. It was a very interesting experience, indeed, for he couldn't remember the last time his gut had ever rejected nourishment so avidly.

The girl screeched an awful sound and grabbed him by the shoulders—probably and instinctive act—to lay him so that the opening of his helmet faced the floor. When he finally regurgitated the foul piece of fruit along with whatever else resided in his bowels, the contents fell onto the ground beside him instead of all over his chest. It was a sick, dark reddish-brown in color, and he couldn't help but stare at it in fascination.

She set him down as carefully as possible, still holding onto his shoulders as if he would suddenly disintegrate before her eyes. "Damn! I'm sorry; I didn't know they were bad!" She let him go and rushed to check the expiration date on the can, which she had knocked over in her haste. "But…it says that it doesn't expire for another year."

The taste that lingered in his mouth was one of the most sordidly puissant flavors that he'd ever had the displeasure of trying, and as the girl rolled him to his former position, he stared at one of the water bottles with a fiery intensity that could rival the sun.

She gaped like an idiot for a moment before following to where the tip of his pyramid helmet pointed—straight at one of the bottles. "Water!" she exclaimed, practically throwing herself at the container. "That's right; I bet you have a terrible taste in your mouth." One of her hands closed around the cap and she twisted, where it came off in a wet pop. "I always hate it when I throw up," she rambled on, moving toward him and spilling a little bit of the water along the way. "It leaves my throat raw, and then I get really hungry a few minutes later."

Her gaze flashed over the length of his body for a moment—from the tip of his helmet to his lax toes—and she tried to string a coherent sentence together. "I don't think…this is… If you drink lying down, I might drown you." When she tried to lift his torso up with just one hand it proved unfruitful, for the most she could accomplish was digging her blunt nails into his tattered skin.

She'd probably have to hold him against her body, he briefly realized. And before he could make any objections to this, she had done just that, temporarily setting down the bottle in favor of lifting him, with effort, and then setting him against her entire front. He was in between her legs, her knees brushing against the skin of his stomach as she drew them together to keep him in place. He was able to keep his head up and slightly steady, but his arms fell helplessly limp at his sides.

She actually managed to pull his head back to rest against the front of her right shoulder—after much whining and complaining about his metal headpiece digging into her flesh and ripping her jacket—and she grabbed his jaw again to hold him steady.

Her legs tightened around him in a mad sort of manner as she leaned over to grab the bottle of water, and a pinprick of desire coiled in his abdomen warmly. He sneered and was able to, surprisingly, bate the insistent commands of his subconscious counterpart.

"This is awkward," she muttered to herself, and he felt her stare ominously at the sharp corners of his helmet protruding near her person. She was obviously uncomfortable, and he mentally noted that she wasn't the only one. He was trapped inside his own body, unable to do anything to satiate the urgings of what he had never denied before. And on top of that, the need to kill was surreptitiously growing larger every minute.

The rim of the bottle touched his chin, and at the first tip that the girl made with it, water splashed down his neck and over his chest. Agitated beyond the capacity to even _grunt, _Pyramid Head grabbed the bottle rim with his teeth and held it in place, proceeding to suck the water greedily. He hadn't really known how thirsty he was after days and days of absolutely _no _sustenance whatsoever.

The girl sighed and relaxed a little bit, letting her head droop to rest gently against his helmet. He would have bucked sharply, causing her copious amounts of pain and him great pleasure, but he was too engrossed in drawing every last bit of water out of the bottle as possible. She sniffed a little bit, and then drew back. "Pyramid Head, you smell _really _bad."

The voice didn't really have anything to say to this.

She was eventually forced to relinquish him to his earlier position, and then went on to try various different foods on him. His favorite probably had to be the chicken noodle soup, though it was slightly stale, and she stayed far away from anymore canned fruit. He was able to shove down some of the vegetables, but by the time his stomach was full and she began to partake in her own share, he dearly missed red meat.


	3. The Third Day

**Wretched**

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Silent Hill.

**III. The Third Day**

**A/N: **Woop.

-------------------

Inevitably, Maria became far too much for Pyramid to bear, and in more ways than one.

She had started talking again, and when she started talking, he lost interest and lost interest _fast. _It wasn't that he was looking a gift horse in the mouth, so to speak; oh, no, he had pondered over it long and hard, and he figured that far be it from him to decline a sort of offer of a longer life, another girl to fuck, and another person to kill who wasn't san animated doll or a creature with no arms. Really, it was no fun to maim someone who didn't have all of their limbs.

He liked to think that it wasn't entirely his fault that he found far more significance in the way her skirt hiked up when she crossed her legs than in her words. Sounds poured from her mouth, but an apocalypse could rip through their—_his—_little haven, and he doubted he would notice. Her thighs and the brief glances of something much more were just _so _much more exciting.

"You're so filthy, Pyramid Head. I just don't…"

Filthy, indeed. He'd love to show her just how filthy he could really get, but she'd probably have to bend over that chair in order for him to fulfill such a request.

"I could probably scrounge up a bucket, and then fill it with soap and water…"

_Fuck her and fuck her _now.

He laughed at the empty wishes of the voice. Yes, yes, fuck her into the ground. Anytime, anywhere—he'd be only too happy to do it.

"Hey, are you even _listening _to me?"

No, he wasn't. He had absolutely nothing to say to this woman, and she didn't have anything relevant to say to him. If he felt it necessary to speak, than damn it, he would, but otherwise, he would remain silent and as unresponsive as possible.

She sighed in what he could only guess was annoyance and leaned back, resting heavily on the back of the chair. She was becoming less tense around him, he noticed, as she leisurely picked her nails.

Her eyes flicked from her nails tohimsuddenly, and she stood up to walk over beside him. Once there, she knelt down and kept her gaze firmly fixed on him—or, rather, his head. "Isn't that thing heavy? And how do you fit through doors, anyway? It must be terrible to carry around a burden like that." She motioned toward his helmet.

Against his better judgment, he slipped out an annoyed, "No."

A smile threatened to break her face, and her hands floated slowly to her lap as she bent over to look closer at the opening she kept mistaking for his vision square. "Oh, so you _can _talk? Well, you should have told me sooner." She scooted back a little bit and glanced around the room. "At least that way you can keep me some decent company during this whole mess."

Partly out of spite, but mostly out of anger at himself, Pyramid Head absolutely refused to answer.

Maria pursed her lips in a most unattractive way when several moments of silence passed. "Why won't you talk?"

Still no reply.

She edged back until she hit the wall, and then rested against it like she had previously been doing, folding her arms in front of her and allowing her head to loll back and forth as she continued with her, as Pyramid Head decided to fondly refer to it, "delusional woman-speak."

"I heard, you know, around," she rolled her eyes at this as if for emphasis, "that you're quite the sex fiend. Well, not in the good sense, really. More of in the sense that you rape people—things—whatever you can find—to death."

He'd never raped _things. _The things he'd fucked had always been alive and able to function—before the sex, at least—when he'd taken them as his victim. But he couldn't remember the last time he'd found an actual woman that _wasn't _a faceless nurse or monster hospital patient to fuck.

And oh, Maria would be a _wonderful _way to recall his memories.

"You're libido has _got _to be raging twenty-four-seven for you to have sex that incredibly much." She curled herself up a bit.

He suspected that she didn't know the half of it.

She babbled on and on, and eventually, words fell in the form of half-coherent mumbles and the occasional randomly placed word that just seemed to have come from nowhere. Her head bobbed forward once, twice, to lie on her chest, before her speaking stopped altogether and all the sound that Pyramid Head could hear was her breathing—steady and deep.

He only spoke hours after he was sure she was asleep. "Such a fool."


	4. The Fourth Day

**Wretched**

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Silent Hill.

**IV. The Fourth Day**

**A/N: **Thanks for the reviews, everyone. By the way, if I haven't mentioned it before, there's a reason this story's rated "M," and it's not for Pyramid Head's inane characterization.

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There were no windows nor timepieces in the small room, so Pyramid Head couldn't tell when it was day and when it might possibly be night. However, despite how utterly clueless he was most of the his moments spent in his little makeshift citadel, there were those very few-and-far between moments when some outside noise prompted him to believe that it was a certain time, particularly day. Sometimes, when he strained his ears hard enough, he could hear a few morning birds chirp when they landed just outside the building.

This morning—day—night—whatever the hell it was—was not one of those rare times, though, and so Pyramid Head was left to stare at Maria's sleeping form as he wondered when the hell she was going to wake up. Since his hunger had been indulged and properly pampered, it was longing for more food again. His stomach growled and gurgled, twisted and turned, and although he had half a mind to just ignore it and go on sleeping like he had been, the emptiness of his gut _pleaded _with him not to so. He hated denying his gut anything, anyway.

He wanted to say, "Would you mind _getting the fuck up _so that I can get some nutrition?" but knew that this was next to impossible. He had resolved not to speak around this woman, and Pyramid Head stuck to his resolves like blood to a corpse. Or, at least, something to that extreme extent.

"_Fuck!"_

The noise, courtesy of the previously sleeping girl in the corner of the room, made Pyramid Head's snap to attention.

She blinked and looked around the room—wide-eyed and owlish—before standing up quickly and groping unsteadily for the doorknob. "God _damn _it, Pyramid Head! Why didn't you wake me up?"

Oh, she was definitely going to die.

The door flew open in a flurry of rustling pebbles and scampering rats, and Maria ran through it, slamming it roughly behind her.

He figured that it had been somewhere around five hours before she returned again, carrying what looked to be a bucket and a…a sponge? Maybe it was a loofah? Whatever it was, he did _not _like what its presence meant for him.

Maria didn't speak to him as she worked diligently, bringing in the bucket and basket of cleaning utensils, and then leaving for a few moments before she returned again, this time with two more buckets. She repeated this act several times until a stray flesh-eating bug scared her into the submission and seclusion of the room.

Her hands on her hips, displaying the tattoo on her lower right hip in a rather proud manner, she nodded in satisfaction despite the threat of the bug outside the door. "That took a little longer than I anticipated." She started stretching then, working out the kinks and knots in her back and thigh muscles.

_Fuck h—_

Pyramid Head promptly told the voice to shut the hell up. He was far too apprehensive about what she planned on doing with all that soapy water to worry about needing a good, hard roll in the sack.

"Well!" She finished with this exclamation, smirking slyly at her materials. "I can be quite industrious when I set my mind to something, you know. So we'll just have to get started."

No, no, no, no, _no! _His suspicions were correct! She wanted to bathe him!

Like hell, he told himself. I'd like to see her try, he reassured. She won't come within three feet of me, he tried to insist.

But none of his mental oaths did anything to scar the bounce in her step as she slipped on some yellow gloves, pulled a bucket toward Pyramid Head, and grabbed a sponge-loofah.

She was _dead _when he got the feeling back in his arms and legs. When he was able to stand, she'd know the most intense torture, straight from the devil, himself. He was getting a little less creative in his punishments as time wore on, but she was a woman, and he knew he could find something to suit his fancy. Violation via the Great Knife, skinning her lower body, and then—

His clothes were gone.

His clothes—his apron and gloves and boots and even his _socks—_were lying in a pile near her. He'd been so distracted with his fantasies that he hadn't even noticed her removing his things!

Before he could think to react, a deluge of what he could only interpret was needles of ice fell over his whole body, making him breathe a hoarse, scratchy gasp. When his vision cleared, he could see Maria holding a bucket above his head innocently.

"I know, it's cold," she said, tossing the bucket aside. "But this was necessary. I said you stunk, and I wasn't lying." She took a bottle of soap, _dish _soap, no less, and drew little patterns over his cold, naked body in trails of translucent green. If he didn't know any better, he could've sworn she'd drawn a little heart around his navel.

"So much blood," she muttered as she pressed the sponge to his neck, beginning to scrub. "And it's all caked on. Don't you ever take showers?"

He could recall one time when he had fallen into Toluca Lake, but that hardly counted as a shower. The water was murky and grimy, and dead fish had caused him to smell like marine life for weeks afterward.

So, no, he didn't take showers.

She dipped a cup in another bucket to wash away the filth that she had cleaned over his neck and parts of his breastbone, and his lips tightened to keep in a rather vulgar but vocal remark.

Her manic scrubbing eventually lessened to something quite a bit softer—small, rhythmatic circles that covered the entire length of his body. She didn't pour anymore cold water on him, thankfully, probably thinking to save that for the end of his impromptu bath.

Soon, he found that he was falling asleep. He was so tired, and it was almost like a massage, so he couldn't be blamed for just—

A deluge of freezing water promptly woke him up.

She tossed the bucket aside and smiled unapologetically. "You don't look so bad when you're clean, Pyramid Head."

He glared at her as she set to work on washing his clothes in one of the buckets and then hanging them over the very same rail that had brought him into such a disheartening predicament in the first place. When that was finished, her attentions switched to him.

"It's about time for me to leave," she said, pulling on her jacket that she had removed for fear of getting it wet. "But I'll be back tomorrow to put your clothes back on you." She threw a blanket over him that he hadn't noticed until now and bid him a smiling adieu.


	5. The Fifth Day

**Wretched**

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Silent Hill.

**V. The Fifth Day**

**A/N: **I'm pretty sure that this is the last of the chapters I have complete. The updates might slow down to one every few days.

--------------------

The first thing that Pyramid Head noticed upon Maria walking in was that she was naked. The second thing that Pyramid Head noticed upon Maria walking in was that he had never wanted sex more in his life. And the third thing that Pyramid Head noticed upon Maria walking in was that his helmet was missing. This simply should have bothered him more, really, but when he tried to stand up and do something about it, Maria stopped him with two words.

"Fuck me," she murmured, and by the look on her face as she climbed to straddle his torso, she was serious. "You're really not so bad." Her mouth closed over the place where his neck and shoulder met. "Without your helmet, that is," she clarified.

Some quiet thing in the far corners of his mind, far outdone by the voice that was having a rambunctious heyday, was whispering that something wasn't right. Something was far too off; the whole deal seemed too magical or surreal to be considered legitimate.

Maria, somehow, had found the most sensitive part of his skin just at the inward curve of his hip. Her hands smoothed over his chest, counting ribs and heartbeats, and the closer she came to dropping all silly little advances and taking him full in her mouth, the closer _he _came to growling in frustration. What _was _this, suddenly seducing him like those desperate faceless nurses? Not that he was complaining, of course… Oh, no, he would never complain—not when she did things to him that he'd only ever imagined before.

She mumbled something into his skin, and the vibrations tickled every nerve ending. He couldn't help it. He groaned and blinked once—hard. She was a filthy, disgusting, vile bitch, but he thanked whoever was the creator of mankind that she was.

When she seemed to finish with whatever it was she was trying to accomplish by giving him to most persistent erection he'd ever had to endure, she panted, sitting up straight. She must have felt what he hoped she _would _feel and dutifully take care of, because she gasped a raspy, stunted sort of breath and rolled her hips.

He almost choked on a grunt of half pain, half pleasure. The places she had touched him felt like fire, and he watched over the heaving of his chest as she leaned forward and pressed her lips against his own in a desperate, almost frantic movement.

She was soft and warm and nothing he'd ever expected. He'd never kissed before in his life, though he knew how the general mechanics of one worked. There was never any real reason for him to kiss his victims. He just fucked them, and that was it. Nothing more to it. But this was…it was different, and he could tell. That thought almost startled him.

"I want you," she said against him, her hair shuffling over his cheeks, and her mouth tasted oddly like sliced peaches. "I want you, I want _you."_

Had all of his senses been in the right order, he might have replied with a satisfied smirk and nothing else, but because he was actually, in real life, very rattled and disjointed, he could only manage to grunt. It was a foreign feeling to not be the one in control for once; he was the victim, she was the attacker, and he absolutely _loved _it. He'd never known that feeling helpless could be such an advantageous thing.

Small hands, smelling like dish soap, metal, and _Maria, _fisted and threaded into the hair at the back of his head, the hair that nobody but himself on rare occasions had seen before. It was a sensation that was not completely unwelcome, and he leaned into her touch, groaning in a way that was surprisingly human for the current situation.

"I want you so bad," she said between a rather fervent kiss. She leaned in again, angling her mouth in such a way that Pyramid Head's brain temporarily shut down. One of her hands detangled from his hair, brushed down his chest and made the muscles flinch, and then stopped to place a burning palm over his lower abdomen.

His breath caught in his throat at the implications, and she bent to his ear to whisper, "I _need _you." Her free hand took hold of his and placed it flat against her stomach, mimicking the palm she had laid flat against his. "Right here—no holding back." The fingers lying on his stomach flexed. "Inside me."

And then suddenly he could move again, because he grabbed hold of her by her shoulders and slammed her to the floor beside them, then hovered half over her, his torso twisting to accommodate such a position.

Her eyes, full of anticipation, danced.

His hands gripped each of hers, fingers falling between each other, crushing them to the ground on either side of her head. Out of his peripheral vision he caught sight of his helmet, lying discarded in the open doorway, but he paid no attention to it. He was here with her; in the throes of consummating something he'd been waiting far too long to do, he had no time to slip his helmet-slash-security-blanket over his head to hide whatever face was behind the blood-encrusted façade.

She smiled deviously and arched her back. "Not so bad," she repeated. "No helmet, no problem."

He wholeheartedly agreed, even as he readjusted himself so that one of his large hands was clasping both of her wrists above her head, and the other was clutching hard at her hip. He didn't wait for her to urge him to continue, because really, he didn't care. Five days was longer than he'd _ever _had to wait to sink himself into some dark, tight place, and he wasn't about to let an opportunity just slip through his fingers like water.

At the first push into her he felt something shatter and scream, and he realized that it was Maria. Her hands wriggled beneath his, but he just tightened his grip. He pulled out halfway and then pushed in again, and by the way she was elevating herself off the ground, it looked as if her spine would snap. She screamed again, but he didn't—couldn't_—wouldn't_ stop.

To his amazement and delight, she choked out, "Faster."

He was only too happy to oblige.

Her legs wrapped around his middle, offering him better leverage and causing her to shudder and writhe under the grip of his hand and the force of his thrusts. The hand that had once been squeezing her hip slammed into the ground at his side, and his blunt nails dug into the concrete vainly.

She screamed again, this time much louder than last time, and tried to free her arms, tossing her head to try and throw his hold. But he didn't move—he just kept branding finger marks into her skin.

"_More," _she pleaded on a breath, as though he _wasn't _about to actually break her pelvic bone from the strain. "Please!"

He laughed despite himself and finally released her arms, opting for steadying himself with both hands instead of just one. As soon as he'd let her go she reached up to brush some hair out of his face, and his rhythm stuttered. He'd never known his head to be so receptive to _any _touch, let alone hers.

"So beautiful," she said, probably without even realizing what she was saying, looking directly into his eyes. A string of tension tugged her lips upward and she sucked in a breath, her head tossing backward and splaying her short blonde hair around her.

Beautiful, beautiful, no, no, no—_she _was the one who was beautiful when she laughed in that shrill manner as he slid in and out, and in and then out again, and he didn't think he'd even last past the first hint of penetration…

She panted and mewled as her hands wandered over his cheekbones, neck, and jaw. She couldn't keep still, and he didn't blame her. It was barely enough for him to pound again and again into her: he needed to scrape at the ground with his fingers, as well, to try and prolong such a fortuitous situation.

She clenched around him almost painfully for a second, and in a brief moment of reflex, he grabbed her by the chin to look at him. She did, and her face contorted in pleasure when he purposely leaned down and kissed her hard on the lips.

"Beautiful," she muttered through his ministrations. "More than I could ever—ah—ask for…"

He could feel that wonderful friction coiling and compounding in his gut, pulling tightly against his inhibitions and causing any and all restraint he had been using to disappear.

"You're so much better," she whispered, "than what you have here."

He shook his head angrily. Shut up, shut up, shut _up. _

"Come with me. Leave. Never come back, and leave her."

He almost halted, but his animalistic behavior wouldn't allow him. "Her"? Who was "her"?

"Can't you see?" She ended the question with a long gasp, holding onto his shoulders tightly. "Can't you…can't you just…she's dead."

Who was dead?

Her climax spiraled around him, closing in on him as he continued to grind her into the ground, and he gritted his teeth against it. It wasn't fair, wasn't fair, and he was so close, so close, so…incredibly…

"You have to know I love you, James."

Then Pyramid Head woke up.

Maria was standing across from where he lay, humming and scrubbing the walls with some sort of disinfectant, by the smell of it.

It was a dream. All a dream—every single bit of it. From her tugging impatiently at his hair to him managing to have sex—make love? No, that was ridiculous—with someone without killing them. And the first time that he'd successfully completed this, even in his _dreams, _it had fallen to hell.

The voice was gone when he needed it most, most likely lying in dejection on the floor somewhere.

James Sunderland, James Sunderland, James _Sunderland. _Maria was in love with James Sunderland, and there was nothing he could do about it. One way or the other, given the chance, she'd drop every bit of half-assed camaraderie she'd formed with Pyramid Head just to rush to the blond man's aid.

Maria, obviously sensing movement, looked across her shoulder at him, and then smiled. "Oh, well good _morning," _she said sarcastically, but he could tell she was still in a slightly better mood than she had been the other day. "Were you having a bad dream? You kept mumbling."

He didn't answer, so she went back to her task, still talking with him—_to _him.

"I decided to clean this room," she said, grimacing as she finished with one wall and turned to the next. "If I'm going to be spending any lengthy amount of time in here, it should at least be clean."

Soon her voice droned, and he fell into a state of mild hypnosis, staring at nothing blankly while his mind briefly ghosted over anything and everything in his life: Maria, the pyramid helmet, his paralysis, Maria, the Great Knife, the faceless nurses, James Sunderland, Maria, the little girl who sometimes ran the streets listlessly, his raging sex drive, _Maria._

She'd become too important in his life. She was a constant figure, now, and he hated it. If she were to suddenly up and disappear, it would take him time to adjust, he knew. She was an asset—not as important as his helmet or the Great Knife, perhaps, but an asset all the same.

He wondered if the monsters ever spoke about him in their odd monster-speak, and if they did, if Maria was ever in the same sentence.

_Monster, monster, monster, _the voice breathed, because it had apparently decided to join the internal monologue. He commended its _phenomenal _conversational skills.

But still, there was a point to the voice's half-lecture. He was as much a monster as the armless creatures, and he wouldn't have it any other way. But still, as he looked down at his clean apron and skin smelling like citrus soap, he couldn't help but feel that that image had deteriorated a little bit at the cause of this woman.

He'd read a magazine article once from the trash bin when he'd been incredibly bored, and it had stated that if two people hated each other, then they also had the capability to love, as well; if they didn't harbor any feelings _at all, _then that was just a step backward.

Pyramid Head had never really hated anyone—he just liked to kill. There was a driving force behind each slaying telling him that this was what he was _supposed _to do. That _this _was his divine occupation. He murdered only those that deserved it, and that was simply that.

So maybe he wasn't a bad person, per se, because it wasn't entirely his fault that he did the things he did. Silent Hill had a strange effect on anybody and everybody. The faceless nurses, who had once been people who helped and healed and _loved _strangers that just wandered in off the streets, were reduced to convulsing vessels of iniquity, slashing scalpels at any innocent passersby. And the armless men had just been poor, lost souls, feeling trapped within their own bodies. They hadn't done anything to deserve an eternity in a straight-jacket skin. Though, he had to admit, it was hilarious beyond all reason to knock them down and watch them skitter around on the ground like idiots.

Okay, so maybe he had to take the blame for _some _of the things he did. After all, if he were to be deemed blameless by all accounts, then he wouldn't enjoy killing things. But he did. He felt a sick sort of completion and satisfaction at gutting people sitting in a scared stupor, watching a mindless television set. He loved killing the football guru, and he knew he would love to kill James Sunderland even more.

However…there was one thing that honestly bothered him. To even _think _about killing Maria prompted a constricting feeling in his chest, and he didn't like that feeling at all. So did that mean he _hated _her, or just had the capacity to l—?

"Damn."

He glanced over at Maria, who was staring at the watch on her arm. She sighed and began to move things to their appointed spots.

"I stayed too late," she said, frowning. "I'm not about to go out there in the dark." She picked up the blanket that had once been draped over him and threw it on the floor, just against the wall farthest from the door.

She immediately lay down on it, smiling at Pyramid Head. "I guess I'm crashing here tonight," she said, shrugging as she rolled over, her back to him.

He took this time to survey the room. Everything was spotless, from the walls to the floor to even the door and the railing he had fallen on. The ceiling, of course, needed work, but she couldn't very well reach that.

In time, as he stared up at the cracks in the roof over his head, Maria fell asleep, her breathing evening and deepening. He listened to her for a while before she rolled over, facing him.

He turned to see if she had woken up, but she hadn't, so he just watched her face with mild interest.

And, surprisingly, not once did his gaze stray to the hike of her skirt. He was much too preoccupied.


	6. The Sixth Day

**Wretched**

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Silent Hill.

**VI. The Sixth Day**

**A/N: **First things first: I realize that Pyramid Head doesn't really have a personality. He's sort of a figment of James's imagination—a lawman in Silent Hill. But this means that I've had to _mold _a character for Pyramid Head, and then keep him _in _that character. It just made it all that much harder.

Don't worry, children; this isn't the end.

----------------------

Maybe, Pyramid Head pondered, he should just stop falling asleep.

When he awoke that morning, feeling rested and rearing to spend the day vegetating—and he was being completely sarcastic, of course—when he noticed that something was amiss.

He spent a few moments trying to figure out what that "something" was until it hit him. And when it hit him, it hit him _hard._

Maria was gone, and there was blood everywhere.

Rage boiled in his veins as he followed the trail of smeared red through the room, out the open door, and then hanging a left once there. Calm, calm, he had to stay calm, because he would only go crazy in his current predicament. He wasn't able to do a damned thing, and he knew that that fact would only rile him more.

So he sat. And he waited. And to his surprise, he realized that he was able to move his arms to an extent.

The day passed with an unbearable slowness, with random monsters stopping near the doorway to paw, sniff, and lick at the blood. He watched them anxiously—the armless creatures that teetered along, feet turned in as they whirled around to find the source of the scent of the blood, the faceless nurses that stopped and stared at him, the blood, and then him again before wandering off, and the flesh-eating bugs that decided against entering the room with him.

Time, time, time. It was his worst enemy as he laid there, thinking of where Maria was and what had taken her away, kicking and screaming, in the night while he slept. He vowed that whatever had abducted her would become very intimately acquainted with the blade of his Great Knife.

Hours and hours and hours later, he heard panting and heavy breathing. It sounded like Maria, so he immediately turned his attention toward the door expectantly, his heart leaping in his chest.

However, it was _not _Maria who appeared, but a man with messy blond hair and a pathetic little weapon that didn't even deserve his attention.

It was James Sunderland, stained with blood.

He didn't even glance over at Pyramid Head as he lay there, bending over to grasp his knees as labored breaths wracked his frame. He swallowed a cough and looked up. "Maria!" he called, still staring straight ahead. "Maria, where are you?" He waited for a few more moments before continuing on, the light in his breast pocket illuminating the path before him. Pyramid Head watched with amusement as a horde of flesh-eating bugs followed his trail.

His enjoyment died, though, when the reality sunk in. Maria was gone, and if she wasn't with James Sunderland, then she was in danger. She could be dead—dead by any other hand than his own, and it filled him with a wretched anger to even think such a thing.

Another hour passed in silence as he watched the doorway with strained eyes, his head occasionally lolling as what he assumed was night fell.

She'd come back, he tried to console himself and his incessant fury. She would return to him, because buried underneath the layers of seductive façades and tough-girl fronts, she was actually a good person. She didn't _have _to help him. She didn't give a damn whether or not he told his "lackeys" to back off or not. All she cared about was whether or not she would help a suffering person or let him rot.

She was so undeserving of Silent Hill, no matter how much the town decided otherwise. So she had some issues—didn't everyone? She'd never killed a loved one. She'd never ignored the plea of someone in need.

The pieces all came together suddenly and Pyramid Head scowled beneath his helmet. They all had their respective roles in the play. James was the hero, Maria was the human sacrifice, and _he _was the executioner.

His left hand curled into a fist.

Never. He'd never let it happen, because he would _not _fall victim to the wishes of whatever higher powers governed Silent Hill. He'd find the one loophole—the one grey area that allowed him to do what he needed to but still keep his inclinations in mind.

At that moment, he knew that Maria would return.

And she did.

She gasped and stumbled, slamming the door behind her. Her clothes were ripped beyond repair, and a blotch of blood stained the front of her shredded jacket. She collapsed to her knees, resting her forearms on the cement and trembling. Her hair was a matted mess, but all Pyramid Head cared about at the moment was that she wasn't dead.

Somehow, he found the strength to completely sit up. _"Maria," _he said, without really realizing what he was doing.

She crumpled, falling to lie on her side, still fighting for air. Blood stained through her shirt, still pooling beneath her.

She needed help.

He needed to help her.

"Maria," he said again, leaning toward her, only to fall down on one forearm. He wasn't paralyzed as much as he was before, but his movement was still limited. For the first time in his life, he cursed himself for weakness.

She lay there for about an hour afterward, until finally, she raised her head to stare at him, tears and blood fighting a glorious battle across her face. "I'm sorry," was all she said before she starting sobbing.

He swallowed a rather painful lump in his throat.

"I was attacked," she said after a while, still curled in a fetal position. "A couple nurses caught me off guard."

So that was where the gash in her gut came from. He'd make sure that the nurses obtained their just retribution.

"I tried to find a first-aid kit, but…I couldn't find any." She smiled wryly then. "I guess James found them all."

He decided not to tell her about James's impromptu visit.

She managed to sit up, still quivering, and coughed. "You can move your upper body, now?"

He shook his head. "Arms." As if for emphasis, he crossed them over his chest. He'd been put through too much mental stress lately to care about whether or not he spoke to her.

"That's good," she said, taking a wracking breath. "It means you're getting better. Maybe by tomorrow you'll be fully healed?"

He doubted it.

She inched over to him, inspecting his mobile arms. And, surprisingly, he didn't feel any inclination at all the strangle her. No underlying drive forced him to want to kill her, and he wondered if that was because she'd obtained a salvation of sorts.

"I'm so tired," she whispered before she lowered herself onto his chest, her ear pressed against the place where his heart would be. "So, so tired…"

He frowned, suddenly not wanting her to fall asleep.

"I'm sorry that I made such a sorry mess," she mumbled, and he could feel the vibrations of her throat. "I'll try and clean it…tomorrow."

"No," he said. She'd done enough for the both of them, and he'd make sure she was rewarded for it.

She took a couple deep breaths before continuing. "Okay. Thank you, Pyramid Head."

She shouldn't be thanking him; _he _should be thanking _her _for all that she'd done—all that she'd sacrificed, even though it caused her immense pain and suffering to do so. She was the strongest person he'd ever known in such a short amount of time.

"It's funny," she said, her voice sounding far-off. "I've never once thought of you as a monster."

"Why?"

She didn't answer, only huffed a small chuckle. Her face fell lax.

"Maria," Pyramid Head said.

She didn't answer.

"Maria," he said again. And this time, when no reply came, he held her, choking back the urge to kill anything and everything in his path. Even when he knew he had regained the feeling in his legs, he didn't release her. She deserved at least this much for her efforts, and he'd deal with the repercussions when morning came.

She died peacefully in the arms of her nightmare.


	7. The Seventh Day

**Wretched**

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Silent Hill.

**VII. The Seventh Day**

**A/N: **See, I told you there would be more. And there's more after this, too.

-------------------

When Pyramid Head woke up, he wished he hadn't.

Maria's weight on his chest was something of a reminder of his responsibilities, now. He had come to be the only friend—besides James Sunderland—to her, and as such, since he was the only one around at the time of her death, he should put her to rest properly.

But…he didn't. Because he couldn't. Because he didn't _want _it to be the end, and maybe, just maybe, if he let her lie still in the room they had shared for almost a week, she would magically wake up.

He didn't dare touch her, because he doubted he could keep as calm as he had been if she were cold or stiff. Or both.

So he left quietly, leaving her to lie forever curled around the shape of where his body had once been, perhaps still thinking he was there, even in death.

His legs were significantly weaker and unsteady, but he managed just fine as he stormed down the hall, hands fisted tightly at his side. He needed some sort of distraction—something—_anything—_to take away the unyielding constrictions working around his heart.

He found it in a faceless nurse.

"_You," _Pyramid Head growled, stopping mid-step to watch the zombie woman convulse and then whirl around to face him, scalpel at the ready. When she saw it was just him, though, she dropped the defensive stance.

He surprised her by grabbing her by the neck and tossing her all the way to the other end of the corridor. Her body hit the opposite wall with a sickening sound of breaking bones and splitting flesh.

And he loved every minute of it.

_Kill her, _the voice implored. _She killed Maria, kill _her.

He passionately agreed and grabbed the first weapon he could find—a spear hanging on display in a dead man's room.

The nurse began to painfully pick herself up, her feet twisted at an impossible angle and bleeding from her empty face as well as various other choice places.

The end of his spear jutted straight into her chest at one deft shove, and he delighted in her shriek and the way blood spurted to paint the hallway red. Suddenly, he looked like himself again. Even the smell of citrus had eventually faded so that all he could detect was the scent of blood and steel.

Pulling the spear out was what officially made the zombie nurse drop to the floor, just a puddle of shuddering limbs.

He bent down, picked her up by her dress, and tore it off. His fingers grabbed at skin—ripping it, making it bruise and bleed even as she rasped and cried in her strange monster language that sounded more like _moans _than anything. His pulled his apron up around his hips and sunk himself in, groaning at the sensation that he'd missed most in the past week. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine that it wasn't a dying she-fiend thrashing and clutching at him beneath his almost panicked thrusts.

It didn't take long. It usually never did when he was in such a bad mood, and he came with a throaty gasp. _"Maria." _

The nurse was limp by the end, hands lying on the ground by her head. When he covered her face with a palm, he could imagine it was Maria. It was _Maria _who had just accepted him, trusted him with her life, and even let him fuck her. It was _Maria _who was covered by him, with his filth, and she cherished every second of it. It was _Maria _who had agreed to stay with him for a while—just until he went back to normal, at which time she should run and run _fast._

He pushed himself off of her and kicked her corpse aside, grabbing his spear by the hilt and continuing on down the hall, through a few sets of doors and down a few stairs, and exiting the building. He walked throughout Silent Hill without really knowing where he was going.

Truth be told, he doubted it would be an easy task dragging himself back into his daily routine—his deliver punishment, do something indulgent, and then whatever else the divine forces gave him the inclination to do. Maria being absent, even though she only stayed by him for a short amount of time, created an odd-shaped hole near him, and it bothered him greatly.

There was another building in front of him, now, and he entered it without a second thought. He was just roaming his territory, anyway. There was nothing to look for anymore—nothing to look forward to. Even killing James Sunderland didn't really appeal to him much. He just wanted to get his rounds done and over with so that he could find some place to sleep his anxiety off.

There were quite a few hall- and stairways in this building, he pondered briefly, stopping to scratch his neck. And he was incredibly tired. He thought it wouldn't matter, so he sat down, folded his legs beneath him, and dozed lightly. His dreams were tainted with blonde hair, though he couldn't tell whose it was.

Hours later, when he could tell that night was upon him through a nearby window, hurried footsteps awoke him. He looked through the opening of a room divider to see James Sunderland running. He stopped short of a door, though, and pulled out a first-aid kit. "Maria," he said suddenly, motioning for someone to come forward.

At the mention of her name, the hair on the back of Pyramid Head's neck stood on end.

A girl trotted forward, stained with blood and panting. "James," she said, gasping for breath. "You're going too fast!"

He shook his head. "I'm sorry. I just want to get out of here as soon as possible."

Pyramid Head was on his feet in an instant, spear in hand and marching down the hall in quick strides. Maria, Maria, _Maria… _She was alive, walking, breathing, and even talking. He didn't know how it was possible, but he didn't care at the moment. All that mattered was, once again, Maria and her safety.

James stilled, his fingers tightening around the first-aid kit he had pulled from his pocket. He looked up at Maria then, a frightened expression marring his features—rugged from prolonged exposure to Silent Hill in all its greatness.

Maria blinked, stared at the ground, and then looked back at James. "It sounds like footstep—"

"Maria, _run!"_

He was pulling her along before she ever really got a chance to stutter in confusion.

"What? What is it?" she shouted over the hollows sounds of their footfalls.

"That red pyramid thing!" James said on a breath, turning a corner sharply. "Come on!"

She faltered for a second, then stopped completely, turning around to face where Pyramid Head began advancing upon them. She frowned, taking a hesitant step toward him. "Pyramid Head…?"

James skidded to a halt, visibly grinding his teeth. "Maria, let's go!" He nudged her forward. "He'll kill you!"

She took a couple more cautious glances at Pyramid Head before nodding fearfully and following the blond man.

But Pyramid Head would have none of this, and he broke into a full-out run.

James turned his head slightly, gasping and panting for breath, to see Pyramid Head closing in on him. He grunted and pushed Maria farther ahead of him.

Maria stumbled a few steps. "James!" she said in half indignation, half worry.

He pulled out his gun and loaded another clip into it. "Maria, just go! I'll…I'll hold him off!"

"James, _don't!" _Maria yelled, balling her fists. "I can't—"

James opened fire, scowling at each kickback. The bullets bounced dully off of Pyramid Head's helmet.

_Maria, Maria, Maria, _the voice chanted as James finally gave up on incapacitating him and instead turned to run. _She's there, just ahead of you, behind James Sunderland, take her._

James Sunderland dove into the elevator at the end of the hall, huffing and whirling to watch Maria follow after him. "Maria, hurry!"

"Wait!" Maria shouted, terror lacing her words. The elevator doors began to close, and she pushed herself faster.

Pyramid Head's heart coincided with the beat of her quick footsteps on the carpeted ground. His tightened his fist around the spear, beginning to sprint as he saw that she would actually make it—that she would actually leave him _again. _

He wasn't about to let that happen.

She stuck one of her hands in between the two doors, and Pyramid Head heard the telltale crack of bones. She yelled out in pain.

"No!" James cried, sounding a little shell-shocked. He began to pry open the elevator doors, but they wouldn't budge.

"James," Maria pleaded, her eyes glassy with tears and her broken wrist hanging limply through the doors. "James, _please."_

"H—hold on, I'm trying!"

Sobs tore from her throat as she turned halfway to face Pyramid Head, a look of body-wracking dread painting the features of her visage.

Pyramid Head lunged, weapon pointed dangerously toward her.

Maria screamed.

James closed his eyes.

And the elevator started down.

Then Pyramid Head stuck his spear in the wall near Maria's head, causing her knees to buckle beneath her. He caught her as she fell.

Her eyes were wide and staring at nothing, at first, before switching to the square in his helmet that she kept thinking was where he saw out of. "H…how…?"

"I don't see from there."

She didn't seem to care, for her body stayed lax and she kept on staring at him with those bright blue eyes and the soft curve of her lips. Then, finally, she brought her good hand up to touch his helmet.

He didn't even flinch.

She hadn't stopped crying. "You're better." Her hands felt to the back of the helmet, and then underneath it, playing with his neck and the straps that held his headpiece on.

He still held her half-suspended above the ground, the heels of her boots resting against the floor and her back arched around his grip. The only thing she kept up was her head, and that was only to look at him in an amazed daze.

Something behind his left ear clicked. Then the right ear. And finally, right behind his head. He almost dropped her, twitching away.

"Wait," she commanded gently, finally righting herself. He still didn't release her, though.

Slowly, he felt the helmet being lifted from his head. Cold air swept through his hair and over his face as she removed it.

He wondered what he looked like.

She didn't say anything for a moment, just traced the curve of his exposed cheekbones with her thumbs. "You…"

He frowned, and he watched her facial features tighten into a wry smile when he did so.

"You have very pretty eyes," she said under her breath, leaning forward to inspect them more. "Very b—"

He touched his lips to hers, just like he had dreamed about.

Her hands immediately came to rest upon his chest, pushing him away. But he didn't, and she tried to talk around the kiss. "Pyramid Head, wait—"

His arms pulled around her waist, pressing her against him. He was so tall and she was so delicate… He had to bend down at an extreme angle to be able to reach her, but somehow, this just increased the attraction factor.

The voice, who he expected would start chirping his little "fuck her" piece, surprised him with an earnest plea. _ Don't let her get hurt again. Keep her—make sure she's safe._

"Pyramid Head," she said again, mumbling now. "Please stop."

He only did so when a nurse came upon them and he was forced to turn around, killing her with his bare hands. He didn't have to mull over why the nurse had stared at him so intently. His face was naked to all of Silent Hill. So why hadn't _he _been able to pull the pyramid off?

Maria held the helmet tight to her when Pyramid Head came beside her again. She smiled good-naturedly, but she still trembled. "I'm glad that you're able to walk again."

He averted his eyes to the vital piece of his ensemble she held in her hands.

She followed his gaze and then swallowed, handing it to him. "This is—I'm sorry. I was…I just thought that, before I go, I should at least do _you _a favor."

He took the helmet and promptly threw it aside.

She winced. "I'm sorry. I should…I mean…can I leave now?" She began inching toward a nearby door.

"_No," _Pyramid Head ground out, making a grab for Maria. She struggled against his hold.

"Why do you want to kill me?" she asked on a breath, making him start.

He furrowed his brow. "What?"

She wriggled her arm to try and free herself, but to no avail. "You keep _stalling, _and it's only starting to grate on my nerves! If you really want to get rid of me so bad, then do so now."

He released her, scowling deeply.

She took a few steps backward, holding her arms out as if to display herself, for all her worth, to him. "Well? Go ahead. Do anything. I'm _tired _of you tormenting me and my…my friend!"

Her friend meaning James Sunderland. His expression took a dark turn for the worse, and he advanced upon her, reaching out one groping hand.

She kept her resolve.

He tugged her up by the collar of her torn jacket, pinned her against the wall harshly, growled…

…and kissed her again.

This time she leaned into the kiss ecstatically, folding her legs around his waist to keep her balance against the wall. Her hands smoothed back his hair from his forehead, though he noticed that one set of fingers moved much gentler than the other. He'd have to help her fix that soon.

"You left," he murmured against her, breaking apart for a second only to come back more forcefully, parting his lips in such a way that he made his own mind go fuzzy.

"_You _left," she said, but in a mock-anger tone. "You were gone this morning."

"You were dead."

"I was not."

He didn't _care _anymore. He just wanted to bury her in himself—wrap around her so tight that she'd never hope to escape again, and anybody or anything that came near her would feel his swift ire.

At the first feel of her tongue, a jolt of electric pleasure shot through his body, and he almost bit down. Filthy, disgusting, vile bitch, but she was _his _filthy, disgusting, vile bitch, and he never wanted that to change.

She pulled away from him suddenly, and he groaned piteously at the loss.

"Is there a reason," she teased, tugging lightly at one fringe of his bangs, "that almost everyone in Silent Hill is blond?"

And then he knew he'd never hear the end of _this _little escapade.


	8. The Eighth Day

**Wretched**

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Silent Hill.

**VIII. The Eighth Day**

**A/N: **Almost done here, kiddies.

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It really didn't feel fair to Pyramid Head. Whereas _he _had spent hours upon grueling hours thinking of the correct way to ask—the correct way to phrase the question he knew she would be more than a little surprised at, Maria had turned the whole situation back around on him.

"Stay here," he had _told _her, rather than asked, after they had left that building in favor of roaming Silent Hill aimlessly.

Then she'd laughed. "Why?"

He furrowed his brow. _Why? _Why did she even have to ask? He didn't have an answer at all.

After a moment of silence, she smiled sadly. "I can't stay forever, Pyramid Head."

Yeah, yeah, he knew _that _much. They'd both die eventually, and he had no intention of remaining with her for an eternity. Or, at least, that was what he told himself.

Maria had led him to the park, and they made their way to the very back, beside the abandoned rotisserie stand. She sighed and leaned against the railing. Pyramid Head hung back.

"So what you're asking me," she said, eyes staring out over the foggy expanse of the lake. "Is that you want me to stay with _you?"_

Pyramid Head nodded from somewhere behind her. He had replaced the helmet, but found that once on, he couldn't take it off again. For some odd reason, only Maria could do that for him. She'd showed him all of the harnesses and straps and what to unbuckle and buckle, but it didn't do any good. It wouldn't budge for him.

She hummed just a bit. "I can try to…for as long as I can." She turned to face him and smiled, blood still coating her clothes and parts of her visible skin.

He stuck the spear into the ground of the planter, making it stand straight up. He sat down, and she sat close beside him—so close, in fact, that the whole side of her leg pressed against his.

She leaned into his side, despite the fact that they were both covered in blood, and despite the fact that he was a murderous, conscience-less monster. None of this seemed to faze her. "When James leaves," she said, putting her chin on his shoulder, "so will I. As long as James stays here, so will I."

A surge of anger tightened around Pyramid Head's throat, and he scowled. James would always be significantly more important than him. He was a minor character in this big scheme, after all. However…the thought of her leaving Silent Hill forever, with _James Sunderland, _no less, bothered him more than it should. "If I kill him," he stated plainly, his voice hoarse, "you'll have to stay here forever."

Her body momentarily stiffened, but she relaxed with a contented sigh less than a second later. "You won't, though," she said, pulling away to look up at him. "Because you know that's not what I want."

His hands fisted. "I don't care what you want."

"Of course you don't."

And then…it seemed as though everything had fallen into some sort of odd pattern. Maria never once made a fuss or whine when Pyramid Head demanded she stay beside him at all times, and she didn't ever try to find James again.

But Pyramid Head tried to find James. Because, in reality, he _did _care about what Maria wanted, and Maria wanted James.

They'd scoured the length of Silent Hill two times over, and by the time that the sun started to set ominously, there had been no sign of James Sunderland whatsoever.

"Pyramid Head," Maria said softly, placing a hand on his arm.

He frowned and pulled away. He'd failed to find that man, and it was a failure that, for some reason, didn't sit very well with him.

She huffed under her breath and grabbed him by his apron, holding him in place. "It's getting dark. You know it's too dangerous for me when the sun goes down." She released him to point over her shoulder with a thumb. "Do you want to stay at my place?"

His heart leapt, though he didn't know quite why.

She smiled a little then. "Follow me." And, probably just to make sure he wouldn't bolt off in the other direction when she wasn't looking, she grabbed his hand and pulled him along.

For the first time, Pyramid Head wished he hadn't worn gloves. He could feel the warmth of her palm through the latex, and he wondered how it would feel with just bare skin on skin.

Her "bastion" wasn't too incredibly far. She had taken the old animal hospital and turned it into a haven of sorts, complete with a fridge of food, running water, and a small bed in one of the far corners.

As soon as they stepped inside, she locked and barred the doors and pulled the shades down over the windows. She turned to him, tucking the key safely away in a little hidden pocket behind her choker. "It's nothing fancy, but it's safe."

He nodded, and before he had time to ask where _he _was supposed to sleep, he felt the telltale presence of her hands on the back of his neck. Delicious shivers ran through him, causing him to stiffen a little. What had she had in mind when she'd invited him to her _home? _This was her base of her operations—her stronghold. And she trusted him enough with that secret to let him come inside and stay the night.

He was so turned on.

Sadly, he was slightly disappointed when she snapped the buckles on his helmet and pulled it off, setting it aside on a counter. She stared at him for a while after that.

He scowled. "What?"

She laughed and stood on her tip-toes to kiss him, and it was a long, drawn-out kiss that drained his reserves of self-control to the point where all he wanted to do was throw her down and have his way.

She pulled away just as his left arm twitched with the need to grab her forcefully by the back of her head, prompting her to try being a little more rough. _"Blond," _she said, as though still in disbelief. "I love it. The might fiend of Silent Hill is a cute little _blond."_

He frowned deeply. He was not "cute" by any means, and the situation hardly called for her to deem him as such.

She pulled him to the little makeshift bed she had constructed in a corner, complete with, surprisingly, a well-kept mattress and box-spring. It didn't have any sort of frame, but there were several pillows and several blankets, and he'd suddenly never seen anything so comfortable in his entire life.

"Come on," she said, stretching and removing her shredded outer jacket. She lay down—well, _flopped, _actually—and buried her face in the sheets.

He just stared at her dumbly.

After a moment, she raised her head from the ocean of linens. "Well? Are you going to come lay with me, or what?"

He blinked, and she laughed gently.

"You really do have pretty eyes," she said, propping herself up on one elbow. Comforters and assorted blankets caved around her body, creating an almost-cocoon.

He tried not the lock with her gaze, and he stood back a little bit and crossed his arms over his chest.

She sat up and began to unlace her boots, then took off her choker and set each item neatly on a bench near the bed. "You're welcome here," she said when she finished, patting the empty spot beside her. "Just…take off your boots. It takes forever to wash the sheets and things."

He grudgingly obliged, discarding his boots and gloves, setting them on the counter beside his helmet. He slid carefully into the bed beside her, situating himself into the most comfortable position possible.

Maria smiled and curled into a ball at his side, pulling a pillow down to accommodate such an odd position. "Goodnight, Pyramid Head."

As the night wore on, he realized that he probably hated Maria for her lack of perception.


	9. The Ninth Day

**Wretched**

**Disclaimer:**I do not own Silent Hill.

**IX. The Ninth Day**

**A/N:** I always knew he was a bombshell under that helmet.

Anyway, on a slightly _less _than sexy note, this is the last chapter! Thank you so much for sticking with this all the way through. I hope you enjoyed reading _Wretched _as much as I enjoyed writing it!

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For some reason or another, James Sunderland had been driven completely insane.

From what Pyramid Head could see, he kept having hallucinations of Maria being killed by the Great Knife or violated in ways that even Pyramid Head _himself _would shy away from. And the frequency of the occurrences never really ceased. It seemed that within every forty-five minute increment of the day, he and Maria would hear the far-off, shrill scream of James, no doubt watching another faux execution.

"He thinks he sees two of you now," Maria said glumly as she and Pyramid Head trailed James throughout the Lakeview Hotel.

Pyramid Head grunted quietly.

"And somehow…he's just defeated those two hallucinations of you, because he's getting up and walking away."

And at this Pyramid Head laughed. James Sunderland? Defeating not one, but _two _of him? There was no way in hell.

"Pyramid Head! He's leaving; come on, we have to go."

And so they did.

And so they watched him fight another mental struggle.

The fight would take longer than expected, so Maria sat right down, beside Pyramid Head, and sighed. "I suppose this means I'll be leaving soon."

Oh.

Well, he shouldn't have thought any less, after all. It wasn't as if he had expected her to just hang around in Silent Hill after James Sunderland left. No way.

…Even if he was kind of hoping she would.

Then it was all over, and he felt slightly cheated. He thought that the imaginary fight would be significantly longer.

A prick of something—it could have been foreboding, but he wasn't well acquainted enough with the feeling to be sure—suddenly pushed a very disturbing thought into his head: James had actually _won._Not only against his insane little deliriums, but also against the entirety of Silent Hill, including himself.

Oh, what the _fuck._

"Park. Now."

Maria turned to him, frowning at his sudden outburst. "What?"

He grabbed her by the waist and flung her over his shoulder, holding her tightly in place by the backs of her thighs.

She let out a surprised yell when he started running toward his destination. "Pyramid Head, what the hell are you _doing?"_

"Indulging myself," he growled, hopping over a rather immaculately-placed fire hydrant.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

He didn't answer, and after a couple seconds, she screeched his name and pounded a fist into his helmet. "Put me down!"

The park came into view and he ran in a beeline toward it, disregarding her hands punching him so hard in the head she was probably making dents. Once there, he threw her down onto a planter. She landed with an indignant, "Oof!"

He tossed his spear aside and joined her, using his knees to pin her in place as he hovered above her. "Take it off."

She scrunched her face unattractively, sneering and instinctively covering her breasts with her arms. "Are you _insane? _I'm not going to strip for you!"

He growled. "Not your _shirt, _my helmet!"

"You don't have to be such an ass about it." Nevertheless, she reached up and quickly snapped the buckles. He didn't even wait for her to finish, and he pulled the thing off quickly, tossing it behind him.

"So what's this about?" she huffed, her face turning red when he settled his focus on her securely. It was odd, really, but it was a nice sensation to know that _he, _of all people, could make a sex kitten blush.

"You," he muttered, pushing hair roughly out of her face to kiss her, "and me." She gratuitously returned the favor. _"That's _what this is about."

"You're not making any sense," she said, trying to speak past his lips. "Why do we need to go to the park to kiss?"

"He'd catch us," he said simply, pulling back only enough to remove her jacket and close his mouth over the curve of her shoulder.

She made a noise: something that was not quite a laugh, not quite a gasp. "So you think I'm just going to have sex with you, hmm?"

He nodded and put the palm of his hand against the side face, resting his thumb against her cheekbone.

"You're such a dick," she said angrily, but she couldn't seem to tear herself away from him, and at this Pyramid Head had to inwardly laugh. "You honestly expect me to give you a nice goodbye fuck or…or something like that?"

"_Yes,"_he said, pulling back completely to stare at her intently, his eyes locking with hers. "Yes, yes, fuck, _all of the above." _

She didn't answer for a second, just kept watching him bite his lip and scowl. Finally, she took a deep breath and moved so that she could sit up. He bent with her, so that she was seated in an upright position and he was straddling her lap, legs curled on either side of her.

"Why?" she asked, uncertainty plaguing her voice. "You don't owe me anything, and I don't owe you a damn thing, either."

"But it's not about owing," he said, his voice scratchy and unused to the labor he had put it through in the last few days. "Because I don't want you to leave."

Her face softened a bit. "Pyramid Head…sex isn't going to make me stay." She smiled sadly and pulled him into a tight embrace. "But it was a nice try."

His fists clenched and he pulled her to him tighter, snarling under his breath and fighting back the demons in his mind that told him to kill her. Because if he killed her, then surely she would have no other choice than to stay for ever and ever, right?

But…Maria being with him alive and Maria being with him dead were two completely different things, and he knew this for certain. He'd already experienced something frighteningly similar to the impact that her death would have on him, and it wasn't a pleasant journey in _any _sense of the word.

"Maria," he said, pushing her away harshly and standing up. "You—"

A bullet sailed past his ear, making it ring unbearably, and he whirled on his attacker.

James Sunderland stood before him, holding a quivering gun at eye level. His face was dirty and twisted into a feral frown. "Get away from her."

The first thing that flashed through Pyramid Head's mind was that he didn't have his helmet on and that he had tossed his weapon aside in his haste to bid a less-than-loving adieu to Maria.

"Fuck."

He dodged another bullet, and he heard Maria scream somewhere behind him.

"James, stop it!"

"Maria, back up!"

"_Stop it!"_

He was beginning to see a pattern as Maria reached for Pyramid Head's spear and tossed it to him: James's fights never seemed to last very long.

Before he even got a chance to stab the spear through his heart, he backed up and tripped over an outcropping of the broken concrete, teetering dangerously over the ledge.

"_James!"_Maria shouted, diving to help James as he fell over the edge and toward the dark water of Toluca Lake. Pyramid Head caught her by the shoulders before she could make it there.

"Let me go!" she shouted, angry tears falling down her face. "Let me go!"

Pyramid Head shoved her backwards. "Do you want to die, too?"

"I have to save him!" She made another mad dash for the edge, but he grabbed her by the wrist at the last moment and swung her around to meet him._ "Let go!"_

"I'm not going to fucking let you die!" he shouted, rage pounding through his veins and making him hot.

She made one last move to escape from his grasp, but to no avail. So instead she buried her face in his chest, varying between screaming in frustration into the fabric of his butcher's apron and wailing loudly. Soon, the sobs died to piteous sniffling.

After a while, he let go of her wrist, and she walked quietly out of his arms and toward the exit to Silent Hill, her face a pathetic array of dried tears and a tragedy-laced frown.

He trailed her closely, not even thinking to replace his helmet, though he still kept the spear clenched tight in his right hand. Oddly enough, no monsters tried to assail her on her way out. He didn't dare walk out any farther than the rest stop, though, and he watched as she swung open the door of the dark-colored sedan, flinging open the glove-box and pulling out a key.

He didn't really want to believe it when she stuck the key in the ignition and turned it. The car came alive with a rolling sputter and then settled into a steady humming rhythm. She looked over her shoulder as she backed it up, stopping near where he stood.

He stared at her and she stared back through the driver-side window, blue eyes meeting brown. She opened her mouth to say something, but a very unhealthy-sounding cough disrupted her train of thoughts and she settled her gaze on the road ahead of her. The car took off with a screech, and the wake fluttered some papers around him as well as his bangs, forcing small flaxen strands to partially obscure his vision.

She prattled on down the road without even so much as a goodbye.

He smiled in a most wretched manner and turned back towards Silent Hill. Whether she liked it or not, she'd be back. No matter how much she tried, she could never really escape the town—could never really escape _him._

He was proved right five years later as she walked slowly back into town, slightly in a daze.

Pyramid Head was there to meet her, his helmet back in its rightful place as he leaned against the gate, still blockaded even after so many years.

She saw him and stopped in her tracks.

He straightened up and held out a large hand. "Well?"

Her face broke into a smile and she accepted the offered hand. "So happy to see you again."

He snorted.

She pressed her side against his and sighed as they walked on. "I'm dead, aren't I?"

His nod was slow and deliberate.

She sighed again, louder this time, and looked up into the grey sky. "Fucking disease."


End file.
